Striptease
by iPickleThings
Summary: Erik is so comfortable in strip clubs! Obviously Charles will need him to show off his own strip technique.


**Title:** StripTease  
><strong>Fandom:<strong> X-Men: First Class  
><strong>Relationship:<strong> Charles Xavier / Erik Lehnsherr  
><strong>Summary:<strong>Erik is so comfortable in strip clubs! Obviously Charles will need him to show off his own strip technique.  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Strip clubs (if you find them objectionable), hand jobs, and sex in cars.

* * *

><p>Men go to strip clubs. It happens. Erik has always been aware of this.<p>

They show up at seedy backdoor rooms where women with Cesarean scars dance on raised tables and spin on shiny metal bars covered in more stale feminine juice than your mother's vagina after reading a romance novel. The men clink their glasses, stare at the women with as refined a look of appreciation as possible and sit secure in the fact that they will be staggering home with their masculinity cemented in stone for many months to come.

Erik Lehnsherr has long ago become disenchanted with the regular titty bar scene. It is only too sad that he couldn't convince Charles to share his cynicism on the subject. Three fuzzy navels and the sickeningly happy American is ready to go touring.

So, they do.

Because, who is really capable of saying no to Charles Xavier? Apparently, not Erik Lehnsherr.

It's 1963 and, for some reason, Sam Cooke is crooning over the strip club speakers. The two are back in New York and the girls are looking nice in the low lights. Their makeup is heavy and their outfits are small and shiny, pulled down and hiked up in all the places that matter. Erik might actually enjoy the sexualized atmosphere if Charles wasn't humming along to the song floating through the smoky room and laughing obnoxiously whenever something even vaguely funny seems to occur to him.

"Charles," Erik says firmly, but Charles is either unable to hear him through the veil of inebriation that surrounds him or he's ignoring him. "Charles," Erik says with more gravity, putting a hand on Charles' wrist to stop him from bringing the glass to his lips.

This time Charles stops and looks at his friend with wide trusting eyes. "Eh?" he returns, his eyebrows raised in question.

"Charles, we're going home," Erik says in about the same tone he would tell a child that, '_No. He can't have ice cream, it will ruin his dinner.'_

"Whaaaaaaaat?" Charles whines as Erik stands and pulls on his wrist. The 'a' is extravagantly drawn out and whiney. It makes Erik wince.

"But, we just got here!" Charles exclaims, the slur obvious in his voice. "I haven't even gotten a dance from one of these, uh, lovely ladies," he complains, his eyes roving and catching the glance of a glitzy blond who waves and giggles behind painted finger tips.

Charles smiles giddily and tries to return the wave when Erik loses his patience and begins to physically move Charles towards the door.

"Goodbye, my darlings!" Charles calls out over Erik's shoulder as he is moved towards the door, "I shall return for my just desserts!" he says, much to the entertainment and merriment of the girls and men watching curiously.

As Erik hustles Charles towards the car, he mutters various obscenities and threats under his breath that only serve to make Charles even more giddy. After throwing himself into the driver's seat of the car, Erik leaned his head back for a moment trying to collect himself.

He was also counting his drinks in his head and trying to gauge how drunk he really might be. Would they need to take a cab back to Charles' home?

While he had been trying to make his decision, Charles' giggles had developed into full bellied laughs.

"Erik, Erik, Erik!" Charles sang happily.

" … What?" Erik responded, already regretting their entire venture into bar hopping entirely.

"Do you think I could be a stripper?" Charles asked very seriously, leaning forward across the space between their seats.

"What?" Erik asked again, his face blank.

"I'm sexy, right? And, charming! I'm sure I would be a great stripper. Look," Charles commanded, dancing in his seat to some inaudible song and slowly pulling his shirt free of the top of his pants.

"Mein Gott," Erik muttered into his hand. "I'm getting you home," Erik snapped, deciding that seeing Charles' sexy dance had sobered him up enough that he was sure he was fine to drive.

"No, no, really! Watch!" Charles exclaimed, pulling Erik's hand away from the ignition.

The two shared a long look of consternation, before Erik finally asked, "Are you going to be good on the way back to the hotel and go to bed quietly when we get there?"

"What? Of course, I will," Charles responded, all indignant at the suggestion that he might be a difficult drunk. His response did not inspire much confidence in Erik, but he sighed in resignation.

Turning in his seat and leaning back, Erik folded his arms across his chest with an impatient expression.

Charles simply returned Erik's sour expression with one of mischievous elation, his body beginning to sway to that same inaudible song.

Pulling on his sweater until it came off over his head, Erik caught a tempting glance of Charles' lower abdomen, and a faint trail of light colored hair dipping up from the middle of his belt buckle before it was hidden by his rumpled button down shirt again. With a saucy grin, Charles tossed his sweater into Erik's face.

Erik quickly pulled the saucily tossed sweater off his head to see Charles already slowly pulling open the buttons on his shirt. Erik pondered for a moment whether it was taking him so long to pull the buttons apart because he was building sexual tension or if he was actually having issues coordinating his numbed fingers to pull apart the buttons. Too quickly, Erik was mesmerized by the slowly revealed flesh (chest, stomach, and finally the re-emergence of that temptingly faint trail of body hair).

Charles was laughing again, something seemingly very funny to him as he shook the shirt off and let it slide down his arms. Before long Charles was kneeling on the passenger seat of the car, bending over because the cab was too small for him to be upright.

"By the look on your face, I'm doing all right," Charles purred, one hand teasing at his belt.

"Strippers don't talk while they're stripping," Erik returned pertly, though it was a bold-faced lie. "Get on with it," he said, not taking your eyes off Charles' slowly releasing belt.

Charles' pout was difficult for Erik to resist, but he had been practicing his self-control lately. "Fine, fine. The customer is always right," Charles sang, straightening himself as much as he could before taking firm hold of his belt and pulling it loose with two inelegant yanks.

The buttons on his pants were the next to be undone, followed by the zipper that was pulled open tooth by tooth. Teasing, Erik understood. However, this manner of slowness seemed more like a form of torture than a simple tease.

"Are you going to take those off or not?" Erik growled.

"Why? Do you want to take them off for me?" Charles teased, dipping his hips outward toward Erik as a challenge.

A challenge Erik seemed to take on with pleasure.

Reaching forward, Erik took hold of Charles' hips and yanked them towards him until the American man was straddling his own hips. In another fell movement, Erik yanked down, pulling Charles' pants and underwear down to his knees. As a stunning finishing move, Erik then pulled said pants (still looped around Charles' knees) forward and up. Charles only stayed upright because he had his hands on Erik's shoulders.

Their eyes met for another long moment of challenge. Charles' knees were pulled up to Erik's elbows and he was completely exposed from the knees up. However, Charles' eyes held not a hint of worry or confusion. Only confidence and lust resided in his expression as he met Erik's measuring one.

With a grunt of approval, Erik shifted so that he could pull both of Charles' legs to one side and completely remove his pants, only struggling with the shoes and socks for a few moments before finally letting the American go so that he could take them off himself. The struggle he had with his own belt while Charles laughed at him and breathed in his ear about what an ineffective stripper he was only served to make Erik fumble more.

By the time Erik had freed himself from his pants, they were both a mess of sticky precum that he knew would have him scrubbing his knickers in shame in the wee hours of the morning (or, more than likely, shoving them to the bottom of his suitcase and pretending like they had been there for a really long time).

With a rough hand wrapped around both of them, Charles' giddy giggles began to transform into heavy moans. He rocked his hips against Erik's hand and breathed heavily against his ear. His hands were in Erik's dark hair, while Erik's free hand was enjoying its freedom, roaming across Charles' back and buttocks.

The windows in the car were already completely fogged up from their own body heat while the brisk November air cooled the outside. There was little danger of anybody looking in on them, but a lot more danger of a police officer knocking on their windows and telling them to knock it off.

The danger was exhilarating and Erik felt himself harden with the adrenaline rush. Charles sounded close as well, his breath ragged and his movements fevered. But, he was so enthusiastic that Erik wasn't sure if this was out of the norm for him. Erik could see his friend's muscles bounce and twitch in his abdomen and thighs and knew he would soon be coming. He began to rock into their embrace with anticipation.

Their combined finish was a sticky, messy affair that ended up plastered across the front of Erik's shirt (something else to be shoved to the bottom of his suitcase). Their strangled, muffled cries filled the silence of the car's cab sounding nearly deafening to their collective ears. After the shock had passed, Erik enjoyed the feeling of Charles pressing himself against him in an attempt to warm himself against the chill already pervading the car.

Grunting, Erik let his head fall back against the glass. "I'm a fucking mess," he muttered, loath to move his hand from where it was still wrapped around the both of them.

Charles laughed huskily in his ear. "A more true statement, I don't believe you've ever said."

Erik only grunted in reply, not having enough energy to contradict the obvious double meaning in Charles' response.

As they slowly separated themselves and Charles began the awkward search through the glove box for some tissues or napkins, Erik considered the night's events. Eventually, he came out with the decision that he wouldn't be opposed to going to a strip club again, sometime soon.


End file.
